Confessions of a Boy King
by RavensGame
Summary: The third set of stories in my Confessions 'Verse, but completely stand-alone. Will make sense if you haven't read the other stories. Canon compliant Sam-centric episode tags.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay so this is the third set of stories set in my "Confession's 'Verse". **

**_Confessions of a Boy_ _King_ will all be Sam-centric episode tags. Eventually I'll have similar stories going for Dean, Cas and Bobby. They will all be compliant with each other as well as the first two sets of stories in this 'verse, The Samulet Confessions and Confessions of a Toy Soldier, both of which are complete, FYI, so please go check them out.**

**It should be noted that 'Confession's of a Boy King' is not compliant with my other two current WIP, 'All the Pretty Monsters' or 'Prisoner of War'. Those are both a little darker, as well as AU, so if that is your cup of tea, please go check them out. **

**This story will have multiple chapters, so if you like my work, please follow. Chapters will always be episode tags, though not in linear order, so I will always tag the episode. COABK will not have a set update schedule the way my other two projects do, I really write in this 'verse when I need a break from my AU's. The Confessions 'Verse is meant to be canon compliant.**

**Have something you'd like to read that you think will fit in this 'verse? Review or pm me, and tag it Salt & Burn Confessions.**

**Please review, it really makes all the difference. And please check my other work, it is either complete or outlined with a set update schedule, so no abandoned fics here, lol.**

**As Always, **

_**EverReader**_

**Disclaimer: It all belongs to Chuck**

"**Tuesday's Child"- a tag to Mystery Spot**

Sam held it together. For over four hours, Sam held it together. Dean had given up trying to get Sam to talk, and was now just sitting in exasperation in the passenger seat. Sam had insisted on driving, picking directions almost at random, simply giving in to his need for flight-run-save-protect-_run._

He could feel Dean's eyes on him, knew Dean was starting to silently freak out, knew he was realizing he obviously didn't know the whole story.

But Sam couldn't talk about it. Couldn't talk about the one hundred and one ways he'd watched his brother die. Couldn't talk about the breath-stealing pain and the jagged, cold numbness and the utter, total and complete feeling of _failure, _failure to save Dean over one hundred times, his up coming failure to save Dean from his deal.

He just couldn't. He'd shatter into a million pieces and blow away with the wind, and there would be no more Sam Winchester.

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Dean watched his little brother drive, every part of his body _clenched _tight, hands, white knuckled and cinched on the steering wheel, jaw taunt, shoulders tight. Every part of him silently radiating pain and anxiety and fear.

What the hell had that goddamn Trickster done? Sam obviously wasn't telling him the whole story.

Sam refused to stop to get food, refused the idea of another motel room. He acted almost half feral, like a person who'd been abandoned on a deserted island for six years, and Dean was afraid to make a wrong move.

So Sam drove, and Dean sat in the passenger seat.

And Sam kept driving.

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The Devil's in the details.

John had said that often in their childhood. Sometimes Sam thought that's what would be inscribed on his headstone, were he not a hunter, of course. Hunter's didn't have tombstones, didn't have memorials.

_The Devil's in the details_

So, of course, it wasn't a momentous, epic thing that triggered his melt down. No gun wielding maniac, no life threatening injury.

It was his goddamn wristwatch.

He'd had one hundred Tuesdays, and even the intervening six months after Dean's lasting death hadn't been enough to dim the memories of every moment of every one of them. He knew every article of his clothing, the feel of the denim in his jeans, the faint scent of smoke lingering in his jacket from their last salt and burn. He knew exactly how much stubble was on his face. He knew the laces on his shoes and the serial numbers on the one dollar bills in his wallet.

He knew all these details for Dean, to. He knew that the socks Dean was wearing right now were mismatched. Knew the left boot was double knotted, but not the right. He knew about the paper cut on Dean's small finger.

Sam had had every detail, no matter how small, seared into his memory by those one hundred Tuesdays.

The final time the Trickster had returned them, to the second Wednesday, every thing had seemed to reset back, as if the horrible, soul shattering six months without Dean had never happened.

Sam's new scars and bruises, the aches and pains from hundreds of non-stop hunts had disappeared. His clothes had reverted to the clothes he had worn to bed on Monday night. Everything about those six months had simply melted away, like the world's worst bad dream.

So that's what Sam tried to convince himself as he drove. Tried to convince himself that it was just a bad dream, a false world, created by the trickster. Dean hadn't actually died all those times, hadn't been in hell, hadn't been gone. Sam told himself that he had been the one taken, thrown into the Trickster's cruel game. He reassured himself, again and again, that it was gonna be okay, because he had gotten out, he was okay, Dean was okay.

It almost worked.

Sam had finally started calming down. His muscles were no longer thrumming with adrenaline, his hands weren't shaking. He'd finally allowed Dean to turn on the radio, and Asia hadn't come on once.

Convincing himself that they might finally be far enough away to consider stopping for food, he casually checked his watch.

That was when he nearly wrecked the Impala.

The watch was perfectly ordinary. Plain silver, white face. Logical and useful and completely impersonal. And so very, very _wrong_.

It was the _wrong_ watch. This wasn't the watch Jess had bought him only a few short weeks before her death. The watch he had worn on and off for nearly three years now, through his possession by Meg, through his death at Cold Oak.

That watch had been a sports style watch, meant by Jess to help Sam time himself when working out. It had been water proof and damn near shatter proof.

He had finally lost it while escaping a pair of hand cuffs in the middle of a vampire's nest, nearly breaking his own hand in the process.

During a hunt that he had nearly convinced himself hadn't happened, hadn't occurred.

Because Sam had been alone on that hunt. Dean had been dead for nearly six months at that point,

But there was that watch, sitting on his wrist, a ticking time bomb screaming _real-real-real._

Sam wrenched the Impala over to the side of the road and threw himself onto the gravel, where he was promptly violently, horrifically, ill.

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Dean flung himself out of the passenger side of the Impala, flying to his brother's side.

"Sam? Sammy? What's going on man? Are you hurt?"

Sam was heaving, nothing left to come up, but his body still insisting on trying, so hard Sam couldn't seem to catch his breath. He jerked from Dean's touch, like he'd just been electrocuted, and collapsed into himself, crying and sobbing and seeming to grow so much smaller somehow.

"Sammy, Sammy, talk to me, man, I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong?" Dean pleaded in a panic.

Sam just shook his head, beyond illness now, beyond words. He was rocking himself and sobbing silently, mute tears streaming down his face as he gasped for breath.

Finally realizing that this was emotional damage rather than some unseen physical wound, Dean sank down beside his brother and simply held him.

Chick flick moments be damned, Sam was shaking like he was going to fall to pieces in his arms. Dean found himself rocking his too-big little brother, crooning a steady stream of reassurances, much as he had on and off during their child hood. His old operating procedure for nightmares and other forms of heartbreak, he simply wrapped himself around Sammy and stayed there, a wall of Dean to protect him until Sammy could put his own walls back up again.

As he rocked his heartbroken brother, he plotted ways to kill Trickster Gods.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, were you guys thinking I was going to update every story but this one? Lol. Okay, so this is an episode tag, even though it doesn't seem like it. You know how in the second to last episode of Season Five, when Dean and Bobby are discussing Sam saying yes to Lucifer, and Bobby refers to Sam as "having been running into the fire since he was twelve"? Well, here you go.**

**Please take a moment to review, as it really means a a lot to me. Also, if you follow any of my other projects, they have all been updated in the last two or three days. **

**Enjoy!**

**As Always, **

_**EverReader**_

**Confessions Of A Boy King – Chapter 2**

"**Running Into the Fire"**

Twelve-year old Sam Winchester walked down the side of the road, shoulders hunched against the chill of the late October evening. He frowned to himself as he walked along, dragging the toe of one sneaker sullenly as he past increasingly seedier and seedier apartment buildings.

Dean was supposed to have picked him up from the library over an hour ago. Sam had been forced to leave on foot when he noticed the annoyed librarian sending ever more meaningful glares at the clock on the wall, which showed the time as ten minutes past closing.

Shrugging his shoulders to reposition his back pack more comfortably, he shoved his cold fingers deep inside his jacket pockets, increasing his pace. This wasn't exactly the best part of town for a kid like him to be walking alone in at nearly nine o'clock at night. Sam could handle himself better than most adults, but he was small for his age, which made him look like an easy target, so unfortunately, he'd had to prove his ability to defend himself several times already.

It would be just his kind of luck, getting jumped by a couple of human thugs while walking home from the library.

Dean would never let him live it down, and John would just look at Sam with that quiet, measuring look that made Sam feel like he'd just failed an algebra test.

Sam hated failing tests.

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Dean woke slowly, like a deep sea diver emerging from the depths. He stretched, feeling the vertebrae pop and crackle in his back, and he grimaced.

The black dog he'd helped his dad take down the night before had knocked him into a tree, and when Dean had checked in the bathroom mirror shortly before laying down, he noted a rather stunning bruise across his back the shape of Texas, and right now, that's how large it felt.

He yawned again, scrubbing his hand across his face again, forcing his tired mind awake. He'd need to go pick up Sammy soon...

Glancing down at his watch, he shot straight up in the bed, cursing a blue streak.

He was supposed to have picked the kid up forty-five minutes ago. A glance out the window confirmed that darkness had fallen hours ago, and he cursed again.

He'd gotten back in the early afternoon, swinging by Sam's school to pick him up. Sam had begged off, though, insisting he had to hit the local library. Dean had agreed reluctantly, making Sam promise to wait for him. Their current apartment was in a crap part of town, and an even worse part lay between their neighborhood and the public library. If something happened to Sammy cause Dean overslept, Dean would never forgive himself.

And Dad would string him up alive.

He fumbled into his boots, grabbing his jacket and keys. He strode out the door, promising himself that next time he'd just park in the library parking lot and sleep while Sam worked.

Dean could sleep anywhere.

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The demon stood over the crib, watching the dreaming infant. The child slept peacefully, unaware that the woman standing over it's bed wasn't really her mother, but a monster wearing her skin.

The four-year old girl crying in the corner had an idea that something was wrong, knew that her mother wouldn't have just casually snapped their new puppy's neck the way this imposter-mother had, but she was too frightened to do anything but watched wide-eyed, small sobs shaking her tiny frame.

"Be quiet." The imposter-mother ordered, in a cold, bored voice. It idly ran one finger down the sleeping infant's cheek, and the baby stirred, pursing it's lips before settling back down without awakening. Walking over to look out the window, it sighed in relief when it saw it's target coming into view.

Azazel had been quite clear in his wishes. He wanted the Winchester boy tested.

The imposter-mother strode out of the bedroom, slamming the door and locking the two children inside. It walked over to the kitchen, turning on the gas stove and adjusting the flame to it's highest setting.

It took the stuffed dog it had taken from the crib in the other room and laid it directly on the burner, on top of the flames. Within less than a minute, acrid smoke began to fill the room. The imposter-mother looked up at the ceiling when the fire alarm began to wail. Casually, it ripped the alarm down, silencing it's warning.

Walking out of the front door, it made it a point to lock it also. Then it walked downstairs and out the front door.

Placing itself with care on the front walk, it again checked that the Winchester boy was coming this way, and then, in a shifting, roiling cloud of black smoke, it excited it's meat suit.

The stunned woman dropped to her knees, retching at the taste of sulfur filling her mouth. She stared around in wild eyed confusion, trying to understand what had happened, and how she had came to be outside.

Horror lit up her face when she looked up, at the windows of her building, where dancing flames could already be seen in the windows facing the street.

Confused and terrified, she began to scream.

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Sam paused at the corner, hesitating for some reason he couldn't quite identify.

Something felt...wrong.

He glanced up when the street light he was standing next to flickered once, twice, then a third time before steadying. Then suddenly it blew out and Sam reacted quickly, throwing himself over to the limited shelter of the closest building, losing his back pack in the process. Butterfly knife already in hand, he assumed a defensive stance, eyes searching, seeking his unknown assailant. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck were standing straight up, skin so tight it hurt and his mouth had gone bone dry.

He scanned the shadows again, but nothing moved, no ghosts glided into view, no monsters appeared.

Sam realized the sky was lighting up to his left, however, and he frowned. It was nowhere near sunrise.

Then he heard the screaming.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean cursed once more for good measure as he left the empty parking lot of the dark library.

He'd hoped Sam would be waiting for him on the front steps, but he obviously hadn't, and Dean checked his pager once more. Three missed calls, from what he assumed was Sam, though the newest was over an hour old by now.

Making a hard right, he headed into the heart of the city, driving slowly, watching for any sign of Sammy. He was gonna wring the kid's neck for making him worry, and then Dad was probably gonna make Sam an only child when he killed Dean and buried his body out at Bobby's salvage yard.

He concern grew deeper as he drove farther into the ever worsening neighborhood. He knew Sam could take care of himself, but jeez, he was just a kid still. Dad didn't even let Sam hunt yet, though Sam had proven to be as knowledgeable of the supernatural as most grown hunters, and he was a crack shot.

He slowed when he saw the police and fire trucks barring the road sever blocks ahead, getting ready to turn and try another route.

He just happened to glance over, at the corner of the alley, the light from what appeared to be a an apartment fire casting striking shadows across the pavement, all the way to where the Impala was idling.

That's when Dean saw the back pack on the ground.

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Sam coughed, hunching over as he went up the next flight of stairs. Dark, viscous smoke filled the stairwell, stealing away the air and coating the inside of Sam's mouth and nose.

Finally reaching the third floor, he burst into the hall way, immediately dropping to a crouch in a desperate search for cleaner air.

Half-crawling as quickly as he could on fear deadened limbs, he scanned the numbers on the door of each apartment he passed. He hoped the other residents were gone, already fled, but he didn't have time to stop.

The other apartments may or may not have had people in them, but the hysterical screams of the woman collapsed on the sidewalk outside had assured Sam that 321 certainly did.

"My babies!" She had sobbed frantically, and Sam had gone in without a thought, pausing only long enough to get an apartment number from the shocked looking woman.

The smoke was growing thicker, and Sam let out a relieved sigh that ended in a cough when he came to the door he needed.

Thanking god for the hateful training John had been putting him through for more than two years now, Sam drew back his leg and kicked as hard as he could.

If it had been a better quality door, it never would have worked, training or not, but Sam's luck held, and the door was as cheap as it looked.

A wave of immense heat rolled over Sam, physically forcing him back a step, and he coughed as yet more smoke poured out.

He ducked in, weaving around the dancing flames, feeling a heat hotter than any he'd ever felt in his life. He felt like his eyebrows were singeing off, like his skin would start melting away at any second.

He edged the kitchen and what looked like the source of the worst of the flames, but they were already racing up the walls, eating the carpet and Sam doubted he'd be able to get out the way he'd come in. In the distance he thought he heard sirens, and he prayed the fire department would be there soon, because this was bad, and he was pretty sure there wasn't a fire escape on this side of the building.

Spying a closed door, he grabbed it unthinkingly, hissing as the contact burned his hand. Deciding to try his hero move one more time, he kicked out at the door.

He was short on breath and his balance was more than a little off by this point though, his oxygen starved brain struggling to judge distance and depth.

It took two tries, but finally the door opened inward, and Sam surged forward, slamming the door behind him as best as he could, trying to block as much of the smoke as possible. He stumbled forward towards the crib, hands scrambling around in desperate horror when he found nothing but blankets.

Had he gotten the wrong apartment?

A small sound startled him, and he dropped instinctively, looking frantically under the crib. A wide pair of frightened eyes met his, and Sam exhaled in relief. He wished he hadn't almost immediately, as acrid smoke coiled down his throat, making his eyes water and his chest burn.

In as commanding a voice as he could muster, he said "We have to go, right now!"

The child stayed crouching for a second, before scrambling forward in a tangle of limbs and blanket and Sam realized the little girl, no more than four or five, had her baby brother or sister in her arms, the infant's weight almost overbalancing her.

He held out his arms instinctively, and she hesitated for the barest second before giving over her precious cargo.

Sam glanced down, worried at the baby's silence, but wide blue eyes met his, and with quick movements, he gently tucked the blanket back around the baby's face to try to shield it from the smoke.

A quick back of the hand to the door knob confirmed his fears.

They weren't getting back out that way. He moved to the window, handing the baby once more to her sister, while he struggled with the window, finally forcing it up about half way.

Thankfully, the window didn't have a grill on it, but Sam noted with a sinking heart that their was only a small metal balcony and the broken top step of a missing fire escape.

They were running out of air, though, so Sam had no real choice.

Turning to the oldest child, he knelt, speaking as loudly as he could over the roaring of the flames. The smoke had nearly wrecked his voice, but somehow he managed to get the words out.

"I'm going out the window. Hand me your sister, and then you follow, right after, understand?" He was coughing by the end, and soot stained tears were running down the child's cheeks, but she nodded, and Sam thought she must be the bravest person he's ever met.

Other than Dean, of course.

He climbed out, hands stinging against the paint that was beginning to blister with the heat. They were long past being out of time. The balcony would give them more air, but they would still be trapped.

He turned around, and the girl handed the baby to him carefully. Clutching the child to him with one hand, he thrust his other hand back in, grabbing the little girl by the shoulder and hauling her out with him, tired muscles straining with effort.

Outside, he finally manged to get a deep breath, but the heat coming from the room they had just left chased after them, and Sam felt like he was trapped on the surface of the sun.

"Sammy!" The voice was strident, panicked and achingly familiar, and Sam glanced down in relief.

The fire department had finally shown up, but more than that, so had Dean.

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Dean watched in terror, heart in his throat, as Sam carefully maneuvered out of the window. Smoke was pouring out around him, making it hard for Dean to see at first, but after a second, he realized Sam was holding something. Sam reached back in a second time, up to his shoulders, and emerged this time with what looked like a little girl in his arms, and with a start Dean realized the other bundle must be an infant.

Horrified memories washed over him, of another fire, another scared child with a baby in his arms and Dean thought his legs might give out on him.

He'd tried to get in, past the fire fighters, but they'd blocked his way, and a second later, a stander-by had screamed, pointing up at the window where Sam had appeared.

Realizing his brother and the two children were trapped, he looked over to the fire fighters.

They knew their job well, however, and were already pulling what looked like an oversized blanket out. Dan realized they didn't have time to extend the ladder, and try to position it.

Sammy was gonna have to jump.

He pushed his way over, grabbing one side.

"Hey-" A uniformed man started to protest, but Dean snarled back at him-

"That's my brother!" And something in the man's eyes changed, before he nodded once tersely.

The parachute (that's what it looked like to Dean, anyway) fully extended, the men all looked upward, and Dean swallowed heavily.

It was all up to Sammy now.

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The girl wailed in fear, finally reaching the end of her admirable courage, and Sam racked his mind desperately for a way to convince her to jump. He couldn't toss the baby, she was too little, and he couldn't force the older girl and hold onto the infant at the same time.

Crouching down beside her, he forced down his panic.

"What's your name?" He asked, as calmly as he could.

"Lydia" She sniffed.

"Okay, well Lydia, I'm Sam. I need you to jump, okay Lydia? I have to hold your sister when I jump and I need you to jump first, but you have to go right now."

The balcony creaked under them just then, metal losing integrity under the onslaught of heat, lending weight to Sam's words.

'They'll drop me!" Lydia cried, and suddenly Sam knew exactly what to say.

"I'm not scared, you know why?" Sam said, words an increasing torrent as he felt the balcony shift under them once again.

She shook her head mutely.

He pointed down below. "Because that guy, there? In the leather jacket? That's my big brother Dean. And even if every fireman down there dropped the parachute, Dean would catch me with his own arms, and he'll catch you too. He's gonna save us the way you saved your baby sister, okay?"

He held his breathe, praying for time he knew they didn't have.

Slowly she nodded, and Sam nearly sagged with relief.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean waited, frozen with fear, not even breathing, because what the hell was taking Sammy so long?

Finally understanding that the children were causing the hold up, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on his emotions.

He wanted his damn kid off that balcony already.

Finally after what felt like forty years, but was only a moment or two, one of the firemen yelled "Hold!" and as one, all the men braced themselves as the tiny girl came hurtling down like a falling angel.

Dean hadn't realized how little she was before, seeing how high she flew back up again after rebounding, felt how lightly her weight had pulled against his hands.

She was helped off by one of the officers, and like Dean she immediately looked up, and Dean felt a striking sense of camaraderie with the small child, as they waited for their younger siblings to fall down from the sky like shooting stars.

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Sam balanced precariously on the edge of the balcony, trying to judge the best way to jump, so that he'd land on his back. Finally deciding to just fall backwards and let the others on the ground do the rest, he took a deep breath and jumped, backwards and out, trying to curl himself around the crying infant in his arms. If he landed wrong, he might very well crush her, and as Sam jumped, he prayed.

Not for himself, because he knew what he'd said to Lydia was true. Dean would catch him by himself if he had too.

Sam didn't pray for God to help Dean, because even in that moment, he never doubted Dean.

Sam prayed that he, Sam wasn't the one who failed the child depending on him in that moment.

He prayed he'd be enough.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Later Dean judged it to be the longest seven seconds of his life.

Sam had seemed to fall in slow motion, with an almost artistic grace that was horrifying but somehow beautiful at the same time.

He landed lightly, not as lightly as the girl, but Sam had always been small for his age, and he rebounded high into the air also for a moment.

When he came down for good, there was a surge towards him, as paramedics and firemen and older siblings all pushed forward, determined to get a look at the children.

Dean was meaner than most, though and he pushed his way to the front, not even surprised to see the little girl at his elbow.

A paramedic had already taken the infant from Sam and was checking it over. Dean wrapped frantic arms around Sammy, and Sammy clutched him back instinctively, though his eyes never left the infant in the paramedics arms.

A cheer went up when the paramedic gave the thumbs up signal, and Dean caught Sam when his legs went out from under him, understanding with his big brother instincts that this was relief and not injury.

Dean just sat down beside him, rocking him a little without realizing it, growling lowly at the paramedic who tried to pry Sam from his arms.

"You're late." He heard Sam mumble into his shoulder, and Dean stared down at Sam's soot smeared face.

Throwing back his head, laughing in relief, he hugged Sam tighter.

"Bitch." He whispered affectionately, as he reluctantly allowed the paramedic to finally strap an oxygen mask over Sam's face.

"Jerk." The word was muffled, Sam's breath fogging the mask, and Dean laughed again.

He'd never think of falling stars the same way again.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N : Did everyone think I would never, ever update this project again? **

**SURPRISE! **

**Actually, I have one of my loyal readers, DomBird, to thank for this update. They submitted a prompt for my other project, How To Fix A Winchester, along the lines of "Sam and Dean finally discussing the Gadreel Fallout" and it was an amazing idea. It actually fell along the lines of the next update I had planned for Confessions of A Boy King, and Dombird graciously gave me permission to use their prompt for this project instead, so everyone pause and think for a moment on how amazing Dombird is.**

**Okay, so finally an update to Confessions of a Boy King. Normally this would be fluffy Friday, with this being an update to How To Fix A Winchester, but since this was the next prompt from that project due to be wrote, here we are.**

**All The Pretty Monsters updated yesterday, and Prisoner of War should update tomorrow, late. Sunday we should see at least two updates, perhaps including an update to the newest project, Tuesday's Child.**

**Reviews are love, especially since this project doesn't get the billing my others do, but I really love this chapter, and the one right before it also.**

**I would accept canon prompts for this project also, so if you had one you'd like to see wrote, if it isn't fluffy enough for How To Fix A Winchester, I might be able to work it into this project. **

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer – Not my sandbox**

**Confessions Of A Boy King – Chapter Three**

"**We All Fall Down"**

It was a beautiful night, the autumn air crisp and cool, the sky crystal clear, and the wind had died down to a gentle breeze.

Any amateur astronomer could have told you that there was a meteor shower predicted for that night, and in fact, families had set up all over that part of the country with blankets and telescopes and star guides, the kids chattering happily, excited to get to stay up late, while frazzled parents hoped desperately that the stars would actually fall, and that they wouldn't be forced to tuck disappointed children into bed in a few hours.

But the Winchesters weren't astronomers of any sort, amateur or otherwise, and as they lay on the hood of the Impala, the shiny fall of jagged glitter streaking across the sky came as a complete surprise.

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Sam felt his heart clutch in his chest as the first meteor shot across the dark sky.

Panic wrapped it's fingers around his lungs, and each exhale seemed just a little deeper than the inhale that followed. His ears started ringing, and black sparkles began to war with white dancing stars in his swimming vision.

"Sam? You okay?" Dean was asking dimly, but Sam was far from okay.

He felt like he was suffocating, like he was drowning on dry land, and he lurched up from the hood of the Impala in a panic, wrenching away from his startled brother and staggering towards the door to the bunker.

He let himself in haphazardly, not caring that the door slammed behind him, or that Dean had followed him worriedly, still calling his name.

"Sam, man, what's wrong, are you sick?" Dean's voice was far away, disjointed and fuzzy, the words rambling around in Sam's panicked mind.

Gasping, he made his way to the shower room, his now panicked older brother still following, but Sam was unable to speak, was terrified to even _try_.

Speeding up, he lunged for the bathroom door, slipping inside and slamming it shut in Dean's surprised face.

"SAM!" He could hear Dean holler as he began to beat his fist against the door, each reverberation almost as loud as Sam's own heartbeat in his ears as he wrenched open the medicine cabinet, flailing hands searching clumsily for the item he sought.

Bottles and bandages rained down in a clatter, the way the stars might or might not be falling outside, maybe the sky was falling, _maybe the angels were falling..._

His hand closed around the straight-edged razor blade, and with a sigh of relief, he slashed a brutal, efficient cut across the meat of his forearm just as Dean, frustrated and frightened by his little brother's lack of response, kicked in the door.

"What the fuck, Sam?" Dean yelled, lunging forward with a towel as dark crimson welled from the wound in his arm, the blood that had been tainted and cured and so many other things, but the most important thing to Sam at that moment was the _pain_.

It screamed up his arm, jabbing like an ice pick into his brain, and Sam felt his legs sag in relief, as Dean followed him down, still trying to stem the flow of blood from Sam's wound.

"TALK TO ME SAMMY!" Dean ordered, in that half-command, half-plea he had used on his younger brother his entire life, the voice that got him to school, woke him off, stopped fights with John and always let Sam know that Dean was coming, and to _just...hold...on._

Limply, he raised his eyes to Dean's shocked green ones.

"I just had to _know_." He said simply.

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

Dean sat, lips pressed together grimly as he set another stitch in his brother's wounded arm.

Sam hadn't said a word yet, not since that enigmatic statement about needing to know something, and as he finished up the last stitch (twenty-three, Jesus Christ Sammy) he marshaled his thoughts, trying to break his seemingly catatonic brother out of the shell he had retreated into immediately after nearly severing his own damn arm.

Dean had no idea what had just happened.

They'd gotten back from a case, just your average salt and burn, and the night had been nice, so Dean had pulled a couple of beers out of the case they had picked up on the way home, tossing one to his brother, and they had climbed on the hood of the Impala to enjoy the night for a while.

The meteor shower had been unexpected, but Dean had no idea why it would have frightened Sam so badly he'd try to hurt himself, Sam had always loved the stars, even as a kid.

And at least these really were stars, and not angels like last time...

"Shit." Dean dropped the roll of gauze in shock as his mind finally caught up, finally began to grasp just where his little brother's mind had gone in those few, desperate moments.

"Was it the angels?" He asked, leaning down and trying to make eye contact with Sam.

Sam blinked, seeming to start to focus a little better on his older brother. Swallowing, he nodded.

"I just...needed to know." He repeated.

"Needed to know what, Sam?" Dean asked gently.

Sam looked at him bleakly. "If this was real."

Dean felt the ground shift under him nauseatingly at his brother's words, at the realization of why Sam had done what he'd done.

A hundred memories of Sam, pressing his hand into his scarred palm to drive away his hallucinations of Lucifer flashed through his mind.

"Did you think it wasn't?" Dean pressed on, treading carefully, but needing to understand so he could somehow try to patch his little brother back together again.

Sam swallowed again. "The stars...the angels,"he corrected himself. "Those were the last things I saw before..." Here he went silent and Dean closed his eyes as shame flowed through him.

Gadreel. This was more Gadreel fall-out, literally.

"The last thing you saw before I let that bastard take you over." He whispered.

Sam nodded jerkily, not making eye contact.

"You were afraid it was a hallucination, that you were losing time again, like with Gadreel, like with Lucifer?" Dean asked.

Sam looked over at him. "It was so real, Dean. That's the problem, it was all so..._real_."

"Okay." Dean said, shifting through his brothers words, trying to find words of his own to somehow stitch Sam back together, the way he had stitched Sam's arm.

"Okay, but Crowley said you could remember everything, if you tried hard enough. You had access to everything Gadreel did when he was running the show." Dean reasoned.

Sam nodded, the motion nearly rocking his whole body. "That's not the problem, Dean. The problem isn't missing memories, it's having too many." He laughed bitterly.

"Sometimes, I feel like my entire life is just one big instance of deja vu." He added.

"Okay, I don't understand." Dean said.

Sam looked at him. "That's because it's never happened to you. When a demon takes you over, it's like getting too drunk and passing out, you're awake and then not, and you don't remember much. But an angel is_ kinder_." He spat the word out like poison.

"They create a pretty little fantasy world and slip you in it, and you don't even realize that it's all in your head until you're out again." Sam explained.

"Like, with the djinn?" Dean asked, trying to understand.

"Yeah, I guess. But you said you knew something had changed, Dean. I had no idea, I fell asleep, next to you and the Impala and the damn sky was falling, and I woke up in the hospital, with that thing inside me, and from that moment on, it's like I lead two lives at the same time, and sometimes I can't keep them straight." Sam said bitterly.

"So, you cut yourself, to see if you'd feel pain, to see if you'd what, wake up?" Dean asked, horrified that Sam had been working through all of this by himself.

Then an even worse thought struck him. "Have you done this before, hurt yourself just to see if you'd wake up?"

Sam looked away. "Dean, I was possessed by Meg, Lucifer and Gadreel. Even after Lucifer was out of me, he still haunted me, he still hunted me. You were rock one, that's what you said, back in the warehouse, but then, after Dick Roman was gone, you were too. Some days I thought my entire life was a story I'd made up in my mind, and that I was really locked away in some psych ward somewhere. Some days, that would have been preferable. Then you came back, and things were better, I knew when things were real, but then Gadreel happened. And now, sometimes stupid little things make me feel like my entire world is shattering, and I'm falling through the cracks."

"Jesus Christ, Sam." Dean said, sagging beside his brother. "That's...Christ, Sam. Is that why you stopped hunting? Why you didn't look for me? You thought this was all some sick game of Lucifer?"

Sam shrugged. "I stopped because some days I didn't even know who I was anymore, not without you to remind me, and the days I did, I wished I hadn't. I finally just decided that maybe all this was a lie, but all I could do was more forward. Then you came back, and I figured that was better, because if everything was a lie, the lie was still better with you in it. Eventually, I came to feel more...real. I guess."

"And then Gadreel." Dean said softly.

Sam nodded. "And then came Gadreel. I know you were desperate, Dean. I know that. But I swore to myself that I would never become a monster for someone else again, I'd never let my body become someone's tool. I'd never become a thing, something to be used. But that's what Gadreel did to me, and Kevin died because of it."

"And all this time, you've wondered if you were crazy?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at him wryly. "We hunt monsters, live in the bat cave, have an actual angel as a wing man, died repeatedly, and we've both come back from heaven and hell. I'm fairly certain we must both be crazy, but no, Dean, most days I know this is real, that you and me and this..." He gestured at their home, "Is real. It's just, those stupid stars falling, I just..."

"Panicked." Dean supplied, sitting beside Sam on the ground, leaning against the wall.

Sam nodded. "I just...had to know."

"You're real, Sam." Dean said firmly, "And I'm real. And I'm sorry. I should have said it before, but it just seemed...to big for for words to be anything other than an insult. That's why I left, you know, because it was just too much."

"You scared me." Sam admitted quietly. "All the things we've done to try and protect people, the idea that we had become people who would do something so..."

"Desperate?" Dean said, with a humorless chuckle of his own. "Yeah, I was pretty desperate, Sam. I thought I lost you at Cold Oak, and we both know how badly I handled that. And then after you fell into hell, and then came back so..."

"Wrong?" This time it was Sam who offered the adjective.

"Hell yes, you were wrong. But I handled that badly, too. But after all of that I finally got you back, and those damn trials were ripping you away from me again. Asking you to stop was the hardest thing I've ever done, because I wanted all this to end, God, did I ever. But I asked, because I couldn't chose closing the gates over loosing you again. And then, when it looked like you were going to die anyway, it was like..."

"Like you'd lost everything." Sam said quietly.

"Yeah. So, I guess that must have been what it felt like when I went to purgatory, and you thought I was dead."

"Kind of." Sam agreed. "But I was in a pretty bad place, with pretty much everyone gone, you, Cas, Bobby, Kevin. Gadreel hurt more in a way, because I thought I was getting better. I had started waking up everyday knowing who I was, I felt...safe, I guess. Even with the trial sickness and the not knowing if I was going to live or die, at least I knew things were real."

"And then I fucked it up." Dean said self-indiscriminately.

Sam smiled a little. "The more I think about it, the more natural a choice it seems for you to have made, I just wished you would have told me, have trusted me. I spent days afterward just staring at myself in the mirror, trying to figure out if I was really the only person in my head or not."

"Gadreel said you would cast him out, and then you'd die." Dean said, looking away.

"Someday, one of us will die, though, Dean." Sam said softly. "I mean, just look at us. You have the freaking mark of Cain on your arm and we have no idea what it does, and I nearly cut off my own wrist tonight because I was afraid I was imaginary."

"Yeah. I've always known one of us had to go, I just decided it would be me first. I just never stopped to think about where that left you." Dean shook his head.

"Driving the crazy train, apparently." Sam said derisively.

"Don't, Sam. You've dealt with things no one should have had to, and you just...keep going. I forget that, sometimes, just how many ghosts you carry with you." Dean said with feeling. "Just...don't hurt yourself again, okay? Even if we're fighting, even if I'm not answering my phone, even if this stupid mark makes me grow a third eye and horns, just...wait for me. Eventually, I'll get my head out of my ass, okay kiddo?"

"You do realize, that as long as I spent in Hell, I am totally older than you." Sam said tiredly, as Dean helped him to his feet.

"Nope. Doesn't count. I am, and will always be your bigger, older brother." Dean declared.

"Funny, that's exactly what imaginary Dean would say, you know, if he were here and not you." Sam joked.

"Imaginary Dean can kiss my ass. I'm the original, dammit." Dean muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, so this chapter is another one based on a prompt I received via my other project, "How To Fix A Winchester" requesting a Sam comforts Henry one-shot, but when I had wrote it, I realized it fit better on this project. The prompter was SparkleBattle, so hopefully they forgive me for jumping projects with their prompt!**

**Reviews are Love!**

**As Always, **

**EverReader**

**Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. Remember, mine's green and shaped like a turtle.**

**Confessions Of A Boy King – Chapter Four**

"**Nameless Saviors"**

Sam approached Henry cautiously. Dean would probably be upset that he was talking to the man period, but Dean was feeling pretty defensive all around right now.

And Henry looked absolutely miserable.

Henry looked up, meeting Sam's eyes bleakly, shaking his head.

"I can't. I can't just stay here, and not go back. How can I leave them?" Henry asked desperately. "I've paged through this...this journal of your father's. This is John, my son, John, and he had this...horrible, lonely life. You're asking me to just let it happen..."

Sam sighed. "I know. I was there for some of it. I caused some of it. Thing is, I'm pretty certain even if you hadn't been forced to come here, had somehow managed to return, it wouldn't have mattered."

"What do you mean?" Henry asked.

Sam paused, testing his words carefully, tasting them. "Well, for starters, Dean and I exist. Simply put, that means no matter what, Dad meant Mom. The demons wanted it, and so did the angels."

"What do you mean, the angels? No one's seen an angel in a thousand years..." Henry said in disbelief.

"Until about four years ago. Now they're popping up like daisies. It's..." Sam sighed. He hadn't wanted to say it, admit who he was, but he couldn't let Henry suffer under the delusion that John's suffering was his fault.

"Have you heard of the prophecy of the boy king?" He finally asked, meeting his grandfather's eyes.

Henry nodded. "Yes, the one who frees Lucifer, who starts the apocalypse. But that's only a legend."

Sam grimaced, scratching his head awkwardly. "Uh...yeah. About that." He held his hand out to Henry.

"Hi, I''m Sam Winchester, ex-blood junkie, and I jump started the apocalypse."

**Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural**

It took nearly two hours for Sam to explain everything, but finally, even Henry's curious mind was satisfied.

About what had happened, but not his role in things.

"Sam, I don't understand, you of all people should want me to go back. I can change John's life, YOUR life. I can fix things." Henry argued.

Sam shook his head. "We can't. We change even one thing, and who knows what might happen."

"You might not have to spend two centuries in the cage with Lucifer." Henry pointed out.

"I might give in all together. I might truly turn evil. Dean and I might fail. They angels might target another family all together, but Dean and I might not even exist. Sure, I might not suffer, but everyone else could. I can't condone risking that, and Dad might have been little when you last saw him, but you have to know, that's not what he would want. It's not the action you chose, when you tried to flee from Abaddon. You chose hope over fear, over the potential pain, and I have to do the same."

"John was...so bitter, at the end." Henry said, pacing. "He thought I abandoned him."

"Yes." Sam agreed. "But try to give him some credit. Once he became a hunter, he began to understand just how wrong things can go. I refuse to believe that once he learned about the supernatural, that he never considered that your disappearance might have been forced. Especially once he learned how the demons were targeting me and Dean. Dad was one of the most brilliant and strategic hunters I've ever met. He may not have known you had a good reason, but trust me, once his eyes were opened, I'm sure he at least considered it. He had to make some pretty dark choices in his life. The thing is, Henry, you did good. He was a good Dad, despite everything. Heaven and Hell through am impossible situation at him, and he dealt with it. He died to save Dean, and Dean died to save me."

"And you died to save everyone." Henry replied.

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. But I was only able to do it because Dean came back for me. And Dean learned that from Dad. Dad stressed family over everything. Because he was hurt, when you left. It was all some horrible, intricate chain of events, but somehow, we won. What you did, coming here, set that all in motion. And a cupid once told us how hard they worked to get Mom and Dad together. Mom was a hunter, if Dad had grown up as a legacy Man of Letters, the angels might have taken action against you instead. They were determined, Henry. The deck was stacked against all of us, from the start. But we won."

"At the price of my family, of our family." Henry said bitterly.

Sam sighed. He pulled a photo out of his wallet. It was a smiling dark haired woman. "This is Amelia. I left her, to continue hunting with Dean when he returned. And it haunts me. I can here her voice, in my head, all the time. Laughing, chiding, humming. But I made the right choice."

Sam pulled out a second photo. "Cas, our angel friend, gave this to me, after my soul was returned. I was in a pretty dark place, still hurting over what I'd done, trusting Ruby, using my powers."

Henry studied the photo. It was of a blond woman, holding a little boy on her lap. "Who is this?" He asked.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know her name. I never asked. Cas probably could have told me. I didn't need to know, though. I know the little boy's name, though. It's Jonathan."

"Then, why do you carry her photograph?" Henry asked in bewilderment.

Sam swallowed. "Our demon blade kills demons, but it also kills the host. That was what drew me to using my powers in the first place. Ruby convinced me that using my power saved the host. After she betrayed me, I though perhaps it was all lies, that...I had just wanted power. That in using my abilities, I had failed. Cas brought me this photo. That woman was...had been, possessed. I pulled the demon out of her with my mind. She was in therapy for about two years, but when she came out, she met someone. A man."

"And now they have a child? Jonathan?" Henry guessed.

"Yup." Sam said, standing and shoving his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward. "Cas said, he wouldn't have been born unless I had saved his mother. And some day, she's going to tell him about having a nervous breakdown, how she was delusional, and how she almost killed herself when she was being treated for it. He's going to grow up listening to his mother's stories about her battle with depression and suicide, and..." He trailed off, still feeling weird saying it.

"What?" Henry prompted curiously.

Sam sighed again. "Angel's can see the future, or maybe sense is the better word. He's going to become a doctor. A therapist, and he's going to come up with a treatment that is going to...save a lot of people. A lot of people. And one of those people will become something else, and they're going to save someone, and on and on and on."

"Why would he tell you this? Isn't knowing the future dangerous?" Henry asked.

Sam shrugged with one shoulder. "He wanted me to know...my legacy, I guess. Not just the people I saved when I went to the cage, not just when I was acting as the 'Boy King'. The people I saved when I was just Sam Winchester."

"Why is this supposed to make me feel better?" Henry asked. "Your legacy and your brother's might be impressive, but what does it have to do with me, with John?"

Sam looked at him. "Because it's not just my legacy, or Dean's. It's my father's, and it's yours. Your sacrifice, your leaving your family? That's why this little boy exists. And every person he saves, and every person they help. We're Winchesters. We're always going to have extraordinary lives. But that isn't what makes _us _extraordinary. Our choices do. People are alive, because of you, Henry. They're going to be born, and go to school and fall in love. They'll become parents and lovers and scientists and writers, because of you. Because you were willing to do the hard thing. That's the Winchester legacy. We're the ones who are willing to do the hard things. And it starts with you. You are the link in the chain where the Winchester legacy goes from being a watcher, a researcher and a librarian to being someone who's willing to give everything to save someone. It starts with you."

"That doesn't change the fact that sixty years ago, a little boy is lying in bed waiting for his father to come home. And now, he never will." Henry said, with one silent tear trickling down his face.

Sam smiled sadly. "That little boy grows up to be a hero. Give him a little credit. He was stronger than you realize, and he got it from you, Henry."

Henry was quiet for a long time. "You think I should just...give up?"

Sam shook his head. "You're not giving up on them. You're letting them go. There's a difference. Winchesters don't give up on family. You and me, right here and now, that proves it. Winchesters are so damned determined to take care of each other that I'm comforting my own grandfather, who came forward in time sixty years just to see me."

Henry laughed a little forlornly. "So, what your saying is, this is right?"

"I know it doesn't feel like it. But yeah, it is. This is the price." Sam said quietly.

Henry sighed. "My father had a saying, I didn't understand it as a child, but I think I'm beginning to. He always said that people had a bad habit of confusing things that were priceless with things that were free."

"You're choosing hope, Henry. And you're choosing to have faith in him, and us. Thank you." Sam said meaningfully, looking Henry directly in the eyes.

"It's gonna be okay."


End file.
